


The World Spins Madly On

by ebethoboi888999888



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Claire returns earlier, Frank believes Claire, Frank helps her, Frank is a good person, Friendship, Jamie raises Bree, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebethoboi888999888/pseuds/ebethoboi888999888
Summary: When Claire returns three years later, Frank is waiting for her. The only problem is, he has moved on just as completely as she has. Their marriage understandably ended, they strike up a friendship fueled by Frank wife's openness and their own lasting fondness for one another. So of course, when Claire asks him a favor, to scour the pages of history for mentions of her lost love and the father of her newborn daughter, he complies. What follows brings family together in the way they were always meant to.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp & Frank Randall (platonic), Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 33
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

Frank Randall hovered outside the door with bated breath. The form outside the door said it plainly enough but he still could not believe it entirely. Claire Beauchamp Randall had been found alive. Weak and malnourished and possibly raving mad, but alive. And of course he was called. Because he was her husband. Because she was alive so he was still her husband. 

“I’ll wait at the Reverend’s house.” Anne had said, bless her. “Don’t worry about me. Just take care of her.”

At first thought he wanted to burst in, caught between embracing her and screaming at her. If she had left him on purpose, why come back now? Why drag him back into loving her when he was just beginning to heal properly, to find his way forward with Anne? He still missed her, although he had realized just how much he had changed from the during. Part of him wondered if their union would have lasted much longer if she hadn’t disappeared. His infertility would prevent any possibility of a child bonding them together again. Would they have fallen thoroughly to pieces if they had tried to make their marriage work? A marriage between two people that did not exist by VE day?

But if she hadn’t gone of her own accord...what would he say? That he had stopped the search? That he had given up on her? That he had moved on to another woman, another life? Whether he had been widowed or abandoned just the same to the world. For all intents and purposes, until a few hours ago, he thought he was unmarried. How could he look her in the eyes and tell her that? That what love for her remained in his heart was struggling against his passion for the new woman in his life. Perhaps he still loved her, but he had long since fallen in love with another. 

“Mr. Randall?” A nurse exiting Claire’s room smiled warmly at him. “She’s awake. You can go in now.”

“Oh, right, right, of course.” She continued to stare as he didn't move, only walking off when he finally forces himself to make for the door. 

The radio is wailing in the corner, but she,  _ Claire _ , was staring, unmoving, at the bustling traffic outside the window. Her body shuddered as the music hit a particularly earsplitting high note. 

“Would you turn that bloody thing off, please?” Her voice was strange, like she wastrying to be harsh but barely had the energy. 

He complied, unable to do much else. When the noise of the music died, it was replaced by the sounds of the road, at which she turned up her nose. 

Her name died on his lips when she suddenly convulsed on the bed, whipping her head towards him. Eyes wide, he watched as her terror turned quickly to recognition and then to feeble resignation. 

“Frank.” She muttered. The way she said his name was different too. There was no relief there. A degree of shame, which he tried not to read into, and a good deal of unpredicted bitterness. 

He moved closer to her, caught up on instinct, analyzing exactly how she had changed in the last few years, but she recoiled instantly. For a moment, sorrow crept in. He reasoned with anguish that her rejection was due to abuse she had suffered for the last three years, the part of him that still considered himself to be Claire Beauchamp’s husband still stubbornly unwilling to accept that she may have left on her own accord. 

Then he noticed how her eyes fell downwards from his face, seeming to look anywhere but directly at him. And he remembered the report from the doctors. Certainly unhappy and confused when she was found, but not untrusting and with no obvious injuries. Her problem, he realized with conflicted emotions, was not with people, but only with him. 

“Where have you been?” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. What an absurd way to restart communication. “Are you alright?” He amended just as quickly. 

She nodded, almost impectively. Her eyes were still glued to the floor in front of him, but they shook wildly in their sockets. 

“I’m back.” She said plainly, running her fingers along the edge of the blanket. 

“I’m...Claire...it’s been three years.” His meaning was evident, apparently, at least to her. Claire could always read him better than others, but she could read everyone really. That was something he found he now loved about Anne. That she couldn’t. That his thoughts were still his own but that it was an adventure to learn each other.

“I’m sorry.” Her tone broke his heart. “I’ve been...it’s a long story.”

He bit back a bitter response, knowing it would only make it worse. He had learned to hold his tongue with those he loved since he met Anne. He had always been pleasantly cordial with acquaintances but often resorted to his worst impulses with those he felt comfortable with. Her children, ages four and six, were lovely but as they were just that, children, they needed something softer than the adults he had spent his life almost exclusively with. They needed understanding and acceptance. 

Frank wandered over to the window, noticing keenly how Claire’s eyes followed him around the room. Not in admiration like they used to but not totally in fear. She was wary, watching and checking everything around her with exacting suspicion. In an almost unreal manner, it reminded him of men he had met with shellshock. His childhood neighbor who had fought in the first world war was a kindly man but had never lost the habit of glancing over his shoulder. 

It was an esteemed pleasure to throw the cameraman out before he could snap a photo, as Claire’s gaze darted immediately towards the creaking door. 

When he moved to sit beside her, he found the chair occupied. “These were the clothes they found you in?” He asked incredulously, gently picking them up and making a pile of them at the foot of her bed. . 

She nodded wearily, but he made the active decision not to push any further. Hopefully, once their conversation is over, she would tell him where she had been and the clothes, the impossible, obviously period clothing, would factor in somehow. 

“Claire--there’s...things have changed.” He began once the man was gone, having been sternly told off by a matron. “I’m...let me explain.”

“You’ve moved on.” To his surprise, the words didn’t seem accusatory. There’s no hurt in her expression. Honestly, he almost thought he saw relief. That realization doesn’t sting as much as it should, especially from his wife. 

“I...yes.” He cleared his throat, resolving to be frank with her. “I’m engaged.”

She actually smiled. Small and weak but certainly a smile. “That’s wonderful Frank! I’m happy for you.” He thanked God that Claire Beauchamp (as he forced himself to think of her as) was a terrible liar. Her words were undeniable genuine, which he was endlessly grateful for.

“I need to be honest, no matter...no matter if it hurts you.” He explained.

Claire nodded, understanding sparking in her amber eyes. 

“You were dead, or you had left me, but I found someone else. I managed to find my way again. I don’t…” He squeezed his eyes shut, to regain his composure lest he dissolved into shouts or tears. “I can’t take you back, take up with you again like no time has passed. I’m not going to leave her. I love her and, frankly, I think you two would get along very well.” She smiled fondly like, he notes this with a remarkable lack of ire, like a friend. Then he continued and took a chance at the evidence laid out before him, just like he had been taught in his officer training. “I can’t begrudge you if you left me for someone else, because I cannot resent an act that brought me to Anne.”

Astonishingly, she brightened considerably. 

He swallowed thickly, a ball of emotion lodged in his throat. “So you did leave me for someone else?”

Three years ago, before Anne and her children, her quiet murmur of vague affirmation would have filled him with unrivaled rage. He was not sure if his words of acceptance actually rang true in his heart, which he had feared they wouldn’t, or if his new family had someone dulled his temper, but all he felt was regret. Regret that Claire had felt the need to hide her feelings from him. That she had felt the need to run away instead of face him. He was reminded suddenly of their conversation about the Highlander he encountered. Perhaps Claire was going to tell him on that trip but his jealousy had terrified her enough into running away. 

“Frank,” For the first time she looked him square in his eyes. “Do you want the truth?”

He nodded, though a part of him argued against it. What would the truth matter now? 

Claire glanced worriedly towards the door. “Will anyone come in?”

Frank considers for a moment, but shakes his head. “The doctors and nurses have promised to give us privacy and, with our previous intruder, I’m sure they are watching the doors carefully.”

At first he fears she’s decided against recounting where she had been, but then she speaks, carefully and deliberately. “What I am about to tell you may sound incredible, but I need you to understand that it is the truth. Why would I lie? I have nothing to gain from something this unbelievable.” She laughs bitterly but then grows pensive. “I can’t promise I will answer all of your questions, but I promise everything I tell you is the truth.” The words roll off her tongue easily, but when she finishes, she seems on the verge of tears. 

“I understand.” He didn’t, not really, but she was right. She had no reason to lie. She seemed in full acceptance of his new relationship and perfectly content with not taking up again with him. 

She bit her lip, dragging the sheet to her shoulders, as if wrapping herself against anything that could possibly hurt her. “I didn’t leave on purpose. I didn’t want to leave, I mean, but I didn’t...I had the opportunity to come back and I didn’t.”

He fought hard to keep the words from stinging, filling his mind with images of Anne and Rachel and Andrew at home in Oxford.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the legend of the standing stones at Craigh na Dun…”

She wove the story marvelously, like, he learned quickly, the adopted Scot she was. The words tumbled out of her so fluidly and with so much detail that he struggles to doubt her. A few times he asked for clarification, sometimes because he actually needed it, but just as often as a selfish way of checking her. What day did you leave Castle Leoch? How long was the trip across the Channel? Who was the leader of the Scottish troops at Prestonpans? Once or twice he corrected an inaccuracy but the venom he receives forces him to back down. He knew she was knowledgeable, years with him and her uncle, but here are things she couldn’t possibly know unless she was a learned history professor. 

Throughout her story, her preamble echoed in his mind. What reason would she have to lie? She knew it sounded absurd but there were things he couldn’t imagine she would make up. Why tell him, her estranged husband, the story of her lost child with another man? Why make up an Scottish Highland family and specific estate when it would be easy to disprove her? She had been somewhere for the last three years. If she wanted to lie, why wouldn’t she tell him something infinitely more believable?

“There was nothing left to do. Culloden was coming and Jamie--” His name crackled in her tone. At the beginning of the tale, any mention of her second husband had left him wincing and biting back bile, but now...he was actually growing fond of the man. He had protected Claire (whom Frank still loved even if he loved another more) before they were married when he had no responsibility to. Frank could not deny it. Jamie Fraser was an honorable man. If Claire had to marry someone else, he was glad it was this man. 

“Jamie set about setting his affairs in order. He left Lallybroch to his nephew with a Deed of Sasine dated before the Rising and sent Fergus away to deliver it. Made sure there was no chance he could sneak onto another battlefield.” Her eyes were so tender when she spoke of Fergus, just like when Anne spoke of Rebecca and Andrew, that Frank could not help but believe his existence. “He had Murtagh bring the Lallybroch men home before the battle, but I have no doubt that he returned to Jamie’s side. All that was left was me.”

She closed her eyes. 

“He sent you back.” Frank finished for her, his heart aching for this woman. This woman who had once been his wife, but who he now just wanted to be his friend again. 

Claire let out a strangled sigh. “I wouldn’t have gone. He wouldn’t have sent me away, if not for…” Her hand floated down to her stomach. 

His breath caught. “Oh...Claire.”

She blinked back tears. “He made me promise when I was pregnant with...Faith...that if something happened to him I would return to you.” Frank winced, his declaration about Anne feeling rather insensitive now. “I fought him at first, but I knew...I knew there was no way he was going to bend. Not when he made up his mind like that. And not when it was about his child.” She rubbed her stomach. Her malnutrition from months with a starving army had made the small bump more prominent. “So I left. For the sake of my child and I suppose for him. I thought...I thought maybe if he knew we were safe he would not be as distracted. But he...he intended to die on that battlefield. He’s gone.”

Frank took her hand, genuinely out of comfort, not because he wanted or expected anything. He hoped she knew that. 

“I will look after you.” He swore. “I’ll be there for your child.”

She pulled her hand away, annoyance fresh in her expression “Your fiance--”

“Claire,” He said softly. “I meant as a friend. Please, we were friends once.”

They had met years ago, now practically two entire lifetimes ago, when he was working under her uncle. It was not until Lamb’s death that their relationship began to change. After that it was a whirlwind and then the war began so soon. The longest term of their connection was as friends and that has definitely been the most stable era, perhaps even the happiest. 

To his relief, she managed a smile. “Yes, I understand. But...wouldn’t your fiance be unhappy that you are spending time with your ex...or I guess, still current wife?”

He made a mental note to arrange a cordial and private divorce as both of them seemed equally as willing. Frank shook his head fondly. “Anne...she’s different, I suppose. She wouldn’t mind at all. Her daughter, Rachel is from her first marriage, but her son, Andrew, is from an affair her husband had. He died in the war but she happily raised both. You two would get on, I think.”

Claire’s eyes sparkled. “I suppose a friend would be nice. You wouldn’t mind Uncle Frank, would you?”

“I could hardly imagine otherwise.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters exchanged from May 1948 to March 1949. The first year.

_May 13, 1948_

_ Dear Frank, _

_ It was lovely to have you and Anne visit last week. She truly is a wonder and children are rather handsome as well. The way Andrew hangs on each of your words is adorable. He’s lucky to have a father like you in his life. I’m happy you’ve found them, all of them. You seem like you’ve finally discovered your rightful place in this world.  _

_ Thanks to Reverend Wakefield’s connection I’ve gotten a position at the hospital. Don’t worry. I’m not taxing myself too harshly. I’ll probably leave work around August and then pick up again once the baby is a few months old. Mrs. Graham and I are already working on an arrangement. The Reverend has put a good word in for me, so I ought to be able to negotiate some flexible hours. Not that the Inverness hospital is rather busy, but no matter. It will certainly be nice to get back to helping people again, especially with all the proper supplies this time. The head matron asked me why I hadn’t tried for a position in London with my qualifications and recommendations. I suppose maybe I’ll move away from here, but now I just couldn’t stand it. I want my child to know this place, even if it is not the same as I knew it.  _

_ As for your offer of claiming the baby as your own...it is infinitely appreciated but I can’t just handle lying about their parentage more than I already have to. Mrs. Graham and I have concocted a fib to manage the rumors. James Fraser was in the army but was unfortunately lost in one of the residual skirmishes in Germany. It is easier to justify a dead father than absent one to a child. Thanks to you catching that photographer, it seems that the sensationalism of my disappearance and return had mostly vanished. Both I and the baby are healthy. I’ve finally managed to get myself to the proper weight, due in no small part to Mrs. Graham’s cooking. I’ve spent quite a bit of time there with her, and younger Roger of course. It’s nice to talk to someone about all of this, you know. It reminds me that it was real.  _

_ I have one final favor to ask you, but I understand if you choose not to. I’ve scoured Reverend Wakefield’s books for any mention of Culloden or the Frasers, although I have gainfully avoided obsession under Mrs. Graham’s tutelage. I’ve come up short on any mention of Jamie which I’m not sure is a good thing or a bad thing. Would you mind looking into it? I don’t mean to distract from more important tasks but I just need to know.  _

_ All my best to you and your family,  _

_ Claire _

* * *

  
_ June 8, 1948 _

_Dear Claire,_

_ We certainly appreciated the chocolates you sent, Andrew in particular. I think they may have vanished within the day.  _

_ I’m glad you’re working again, but I still worry about you putting in too many hours. You’re already an at risk pregnancy. I can’t imagine any extra stress is good for the baby. But then again, I’m not the nurse, you are. I trust you to make your own decisions, and if not: I trust Mrs. Graham to tell you off. That woman is certainly a strange one, but I’m glad you’ve found a friend in her. Perhaps she’ll be able to predict the child’s gender with her fortune telling. Anne is hard at work on baby clothes so never fear: this child will be well dressed. I understand your necessity to tell the truth to your child. I suppose suggesting naming me as father was a bit out of line. I just worry for your wellbeing. _

_ As for your other request...I’ve done my best. I believe my literary sources are roughly the same as the Reverend’s, perhaps even less robust. My expertise is in the era, but from the British side. Scottish records of this time are rather sketchy, partly due to the remoteness, and partly, I regret to admit, due to purposeful efforts of the English. At least some of them knew what they were doing was wrong and sought to destroy the evidence. Others thought the situation was too unimportant to leave records. Nevertheless, I’ve contacted some colleagues more knowledgeable in this specific area for information. I trust the Reverend is on the case as well? I recall he was understandably disbelieving of your tale but I do not doubt he would be willing to start a search.  _

_ Claire, I understand your need to know. Not just of Jamie but of the men he fought beside and the soldier you worked with. I can only imagine how difficult this is. But I implore you: please act rationally. Before you go charging back through the stones for any reason, consider your child. Certainly, you could not go through while pregnant again. This time is undeniably safer for them and for you. Besides, we have no idea how to manipulate the stones. I am not trying to tell you one way or another, but I beg you to think before you act, in this case more than ever before.  _

_ A few weeks time and I expect you’ll be receiving our wedding invitation in the mail. We’re going to keep it small, as this is both of our second weddings, but we would be happy if you could attend. Anne is now insisting you be there. I guess you have little choice in the matter. _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Frank _

* * *

  
_ September 23, 1948 _

_ Dear Frank,  _

_ I must say, Anne can certainly throw a party, and a classy one at that. The wedding was beautiful yet tasteful, just as I take Anne to be. She seems a real treasure. If you don’t treat her right, I might have to snatch her up myself. Both she and Rachel looked beautiful in their gowns and little Andrew in his suit was a sight to see. It was rather nice to get out of Inverness for a while, because I expect I won’t be leaving for a while now. I’ve completely lost sight of my feet. The cooling weather is a blessing however. I thought I might die if I had to endure another day of summer.  _

_ I saw Jamie’s sister Jenny through the end of her second pregnancy and her birth but that's as far as my knowledge of this point in pregnancy goes. I didn’t get this far with Faith. I saw that as a blessing but now I’m ready to have this baby out of me, especially since I’ve left working for a few months. Now I sit all day with Mrs. Graham knitting booties and blankets. (By the way, Anne’s box of hand-me-down baby clothes will certainly be a lifesaver.) It’s a boring life, but not unfulfilling. It’s difficult not to imagine what this point of the pregnancy would be like at Lallybroch. Jenny was definitely still working at this point, if moving a bit slower, but I expect Jamie would not be keen to see me on my feet all day long.  _

_ With the money Uncle Lamb left me, as well as my own salary, I’ve put a down payment on a house near the hospital. Not large, by any means, but just sizable to accommodate me and the baby. I’ve taken Annie’s words to heart and have started to think of girls’ names in case my baby’s not a boy as I suspect. I’ve been thinking about Ellen, for Jamie’s mother, Julia, for mine, or even Elizabeth. I keep coming back to Brian though so I’m completely torn.  _

_ I know this may sound empty, but I promise I will be cautious. I’m not blind to Jamie’s reasoning for sending us back. I just cannot live the rest of my life without knowing, without being able to tell my child exactly what happened to his or her father. I’ve enclosed a list of names that I left behind. Perhaps they might lead you to answers? At the very least...I would like to know what happened to them as well.  _

_ I hope to see you again once the baby is born. Your friendship these last months has meant the world to me. My son or daughter will be lucky to have an uncle like you.  _

_ With affection,  _

_ Claire _

* * *

_ October 2, 1948 _

_ Dear Claire,  _

_ Your presence at the wedding was much appreciated. Rachel seems quite taken with you. I’ve been considering for a long time on how to word this letter. Finally, I resolved to just come out with it. After months of weedling Frank finally folded and told me your story in full. I don’t think he expected me to believe him, but I did. For I have heard tales like yours before, although not first hand.  _

_ My grandmother grew up in the Black Forest of Germany. An uncommon woman herself, she spoke often of a set of standing stones some miles from her childhood home. I’m sure you’re aware that the Highlands are not the only culture to have legends like that. They are a rather common phenomenon. Stonehenge comes to mind, however there are mentions of circles like that across the world. My grandmother was convinced that her mother was from a different world, not dissimilar to what the people you encountered believed of you. Her mother had remarkable disposition for the time, as well as a knowledge of things unheard of. My grandmother was raised on bedtime stories of flying machines and moving pictures. Fairytales to a girl in the mid-nineteenth century, but fact to someone from this time or later.  _

_ I believe your story, Claire, however fantastical they seem. I hope my testimony has helped to assuage whatever doubts Frank still holds. It is remarkable that we have encountered each other. Two people in all the world with some sort of direct connection to legend like this. I wonder if that is purposeful, that people like that are drawn together. Like your friend, Geillis, and you ending up at the same castle in Scotland at the exact same time. Miraculous or maybe due to the hand of fate. I suppose you as a woman of science would scoff at the concept of fate, but with all you’ve seen, can you really say otherwise? _

_ I’ve been assisting Frank with everything I can in his research, including reminding him to sleep when he inevitably falls down a rabbit hole. At the moment he’s knee deep in the MacKenzie ancestry. Did you know that Reverend Wakefield’s adopted son, Roger, is actually a descendent of the MacKenzies of Leoch. A strange coincidence indeed. I’m not sure if Frank mentioned how we met, but we were actually brought together by a mutual love for history. I’m a seamstress by trade, with a particular interest in historical clothing restoration. Frank brought something in for me to examine, on recommendation of a colleague, a week later he mustered the courage to ask me out to dinner.  _

_ As much as I love him, Frank leaves something to be desired as a conversationalist in certain areas. If you ever need a woman or a mother’s perspective, I do hope you reach out. I’m always free for a chat or a visit.  _

_ Be sure to send photographs when the baby is born. All of us are waiting eagerly for their safe arrival.  _

_ With love,  _

_ Anne' _

* * *

_ October 19, 1948 _

_ Dear Anne,  _

_ I must say your letter was a pleasant surprise. Admittedly, I’m pleased Frank told you. This is a rather large secret to keep from one so dear. I do worry what I will tell my child when the time comes. I am also overjoyed by your reaction. You know, the first thing Frank told me about you was that we would get along famously. I have a sneaking suspicion he was right.  _

_ At the risk of sounding daft, I never considered there were other stones with this power. On second thought it does make sense. I traveled around the world with my uncle and saw structures and temples with remarkably similar designs to Craigh na Dun. It does seem rather predictable that they would possess the same powers. I’ve heard legends of women that experienced the same journey that I and your great-grandmother traversed. My journey sent me two hundred and two years both times, but Geillis’ was surely longer as she arrived years before me and was from 1968. Her words to me just before we parted bring up questions. She seemed surprised I was there by accident, implying that her trip was intentional. Is there a way to manipulate the stones? Or does it go back to what you mentioned in your letter? Fate decides your path.  _

_ You are correct on your assumption of my belief in the impossible. I may believe fully in the power of medicine, but I have seen enough to know there is more to the world than what we see. The stones are powered by some force not of this world. Although his abilities could be chalked up to sleight of hand or a remarkable knowledge of the inner workings of the body, Master Raymond did heal me that night. I was certainly not in my right mind at the time, but I could have sworn I saw blue light emanating from his hands. Despite everything I have seen and experienced, it is still difficult to believe in magic, at least in the way it's written about in books.  _

_ The baby is kicking with a passion at the moment, nearly knocking the pen out of my hand with the last one. I am trying to treasure each day of this pregnancy, for fear it will be my last one, but I must admit I am growing weary of my condition. The baby’s room is all settled. Mrs. Graham sewed me a blanket with Fraser tartan to wrap the newborn in when the time comes. Give my best to Frank and the children. Please don’t hesitate to bring them up once the baby graces us with his or her presence. I’m sure little Rachel will be overjoyed to play a real life baby doll.  _

_ Fondly,  _

_ Claire _

  
  


* * *

_ October 28, 1948 _

_ Dear Claire,  _

_ First off, happy late birthday. I believe Anne sent a card from the family but I thought I would send my own greeting. You are officially thirty years young, as the mothers in Rachel’s school group like to say. Second off, I hope you forgive me for spilling my guts to Anne. I can resist Nazi interrogation technniques, but not my wife’s. Take solace in that there was withholding of custard involved. She had to go to the extremes to break me.  _

_ Her reaction was as shocking to me as I expect it was to you. I had never heard her grandmother’s story, never even met the woman as she died in the first world war. As you know, my expertise is in military history, not folklore, though Anne has taken to educating me.  _

_ As for your request...I started with the MacKenzies as they’re probably the most well-recorded, being a powerful family as the time. A curious descendent put together a list of MacKenzie clansmen confirmed to have died at Culloden. Unfortunately, a number of the MacKenzies on your list perished there, including your friend Rupert MacKenzie. He was executed in the aftermath, as recorded by MacKenzie filings later on. A number more were imprisoned or sent to the Americas as indentured servants which draws another problem. Early American records, particularly for forced laborers and commoners, are even dingier than British records for the commoners. Pardon my condor, but some of these men, including Jamie I’m afraid, could very well have been lost at sea or died in servitude in the colonies.  _

_ It does seem that at the very least, Jamie did not receive punishment for Dougal’s murder nor did he return to Leoch to serve as regent for Colum’s son Hamish. The boy swore an oath to the crown and at some point immigrated to America. Leoch and the MacKenzie lands were seized in the aftermath of the Rising, as we spoke about all those years ago. I’ll keep looking until you tell me otherwise. It is a nice refresher of this period. There is something thrilling about researching a specific name or family, particularly one I have a connection to. In this, I feel like I am fulfilling my fantasy of being a detective. I may not be able to travel through time like you have, but I’ve grown to adore engaging like this in the pages of history. Anne has had to remind me to go to bed on numerous occasions.  _

_ Please keep us apprised of the goings on of your pregnancy and alert us when the moment finally comes.  _

_ All the best _

_ Frank _

* * *

_ November 30, 1948 _

_ Dear Frank and Anne,  _

_ I’ve only just managed to find the time to write. Mrs. Graham has graciously offered to mind my newborn daughter while I pen this letter.  _

_ Brianna Ellen Beauchamp Fraser was born on November 23, 1948 in the early hours of the morning. She took her sweet time, the little devil, and has hardly stopped crying since. She seems intent on alerting the whole world that she had finally made her appearance. Regardless, she might be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. A cap of red hair and the clearest blue eyes. She takes after her father in every way, even in size. A whopping nine pounds! But still as lovely as a butterfly. Little Roger Wakefield is already enamored with her. As, it seems, is everyone. She’s enchanting, really. I think I might be biased, but she must be the most marvelous little thing in the world. She also cannot wait to meet her Uncle Frank and Aunt Anne as soon as possible. Perhaps a visit at Christmas?  _

_ I appreciate the work you’ve done for me, both of you. I’m also glad you’ve found some amusement in it, Frank. The news of Leoch and the MacKenzie family is about as I expected. Stubborn Scots they are, they would rather suffer than surrender.  _

_ I believe my daughter is playing my song now. Lunch time already. Even having seen births in the 1700s, I still cannot imagine doing all of this then. The amount of nappies and baby clothing alone is filling my washing machine to its capacity. But, we managed with everything else, I expect we would have managed raising a baby as well.  _

_ Love,  _

_ Claire and Brianna _

* * *

_ January 5, 1949 _

_Dear Claire,_

_ I cannot say this enough, that child is exquisite. Your visit at Christmas was marvelous. The children are already asking for another one. As you may have noticed, Rachel was transfixed by little Brianna. I half expected her to make off with her in the night. The tartan fabric you gave Anne will be put to good use on her restoration project. I suspect that bottle of whiskey you gave me won’t last very long, however. I’ve discovered a sizable glass is just I need to get into the mood of my Scottish research.  _

_ Things have been a bit hectic around here recently, so I haven’t managed to work much on the search, but I have found a few things. My research of the MacKenzie’s has been exhausted, save for some information I have waiting on from colleagues at Princeton about Jamie’s aunt, Jocasta. She and her husband were suspected Jacobite sympathizers, evident by their quick exit from Scotland after Culloden. Their daughters, married to wealthy Scottish landowners, died in the aftermath of the Rising, but the pair of them ended up in North Carolina. There they bought a large estate, built a fine house, and ran a profitable plantation all the way through to the American Revolution. Her husband passed quickly but Jocasta managed the land until her death, playing both sides of the conflict. As she had no heirs, the records of who she passed it onto was less clear, which is what I am waiting for from my contact. _

_ I have resolved to move on to the Murrarys, however painstaking that may be. There are records of an Ian Murrary of Broch Mordha spending time in the Tollbooth in the wake of the Rising. Whether it was because of his role as caretaker of an estate, that he was a suspected Jacobite, or, as I know you are hoping for, the brother-in-law and old friend of a still-living Red Jamie, is still unclear. If it is the latter, the records will not be explicit as they would have no real reason to hold him if they had already checked the property. I’ve put feelers out to some contact in Edinburgh for more information.  _

_ In other news, Jenny Murrary lived to birth seven children in total, so that may provide some solace. Send more pictures of Brianna soon. We eagerly await them. _

_ Graciously, _

_ Frank _

* * *

_ March 6, 1949 _

_ Dear Frank,  _

_ My calls with Anne have been much appreciated, but I do think we should continue to discuss your research via letters, at the very least to keep a record. If the time comes and Brianna needs more credence, I want her to know that others believed me.  _

_ Enclosed are some recent photographs of my little love. She’s growing like mad. I think every time I turn my back she’s a bit bigger. It’s all much too quick for me. I would like her to stay this size forever. She’s not crawling yet, but seems intent on flopping around until she gets her way. Given me quite a few shocks. Another joy: she’s smiling now! It was a struggle to get a photo of that event, but I think you’ll see something akin to a smile in one of them. Perhaps the one where Roger is playing with her?  _

_ Just another few weeks and I’ll be back at work. I can barely stand to leave her alone for more than a few hours. I can’t yet imagine leaving her for a few days. Luckily, I think I made a good impression last summer, even as pregnant as I was. The head matron has been very understanding to my strife, sympathetic to the story of a husband lost to war. Mrs. Graham will be happy to care for Brianna while I’m at work and I’ll start small with my hours. There is some part of me that is eager to return to nursing, although caring for an infant is not dissimilar, at least in the volume of foul-smelling bodily fluids. It does make me ache for Lallybroch where I would have worked with Brianna strapped to my back until she was old enough to stay with her cousins.  _

_ It does bring me some comfort to know Jenny lived that long, although I fear for Ian’s time in the Tollbooth. He was a strong man, despite his lacking one leg, but even a man of firm fortitude is negatively affected by prison. I also worry for Jenny’s pregnancies. Is there any word on the condition of her children? I know I ask so much of Frank, but I am so appreciative of your help. If it ever gets too much, please just tell me.  _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Claire _

* * *

_ March 10, 1949 _

_ Dear Anne,  _

_ With every moment of Brianna’s life, I cannot help thinking more about Jamie. I thought I ought to not tell Frank about this. For all his overtures, I worry speaking about my other husband might become too taxing.  _

_ I can’t help but imagine Brianna with Jamie. He would have been the most wonderful father. He wanted a child so much. Sometimes I worry he would be disappointed with Brinna. We always imagined a son, but then I recall him with his nieces. I have to believe he would have loved our daughter as much as he would have loved our son. He would have insisted on teaching her everything, even things a girl of the time should not know. She would certainly be as skilled with a sword and musket as her male cousin and a good hand with a horse. Even as young as she is now, I can’t help but envision her trailing after him in the fields when she’s a bit older. If she’s anything like me, she would want to be treated exactly like wee Jamie.  _

_ My mind is filled with impossible questions that grate at my heart, just as Brianna is beginning to heal it. If I had stayed could I have helped? Could I have saved him? Dragged him off the battlefield and healed his wounds? Should I have tried harder to convince him to leave? To run away to Lallybroch or back to France or even to America? If I had stayed or the stones hadn’t worked or if we hadn’t joined the Rising at all, would we have had another child? Another after Brianna, perhaps a little brother. Brianna would have been a wonderful older sister, just like Jenny to Jamie. Or would it have gone the other way? Brianna’s birth was not exactly easy. Would I have even survived labor in that time? Would a fever have carried off my baby soon after? As she would have lacked the proper inoculations she received here.  _

_ I know it's unhealthy, but I can’t help it. My only distractions are Brianna and my work. If I didn’t have her I would return to Lallybroch now, to help Jenny raise her children and manage the land. If I lost her there would be nothing stopping me, not even Jamie’s promise. If Frank’s research pans out, if I discover he’s still alive, I’m not sure I’ll be able to help myself. I’ve tried to reassure him that I will have restraint, that I will wait until Brianna is older and more secure, but will it be too late? More than anything I want her to know her father, but is that worth the risk of losing her? _

_ All the best to your family.  _

_ Love,  _

_ Claire _

__

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly based on the show, although I might also include details mentioned in the books.


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